


rebirth

by allieteration



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-11-02 12:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20752877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allieteration/pseuds/allieteration
Summary: a collection of legends of lilia j. waters and her paranormal adventures with team free will, bobby singer, and the motley crew of hunters alike.





	1. the legend of the angel of rebirth | part i

**Author's Note:**

> this story didn't transpire out of nowhere; at least, not for me.
> 
> lilia waters, daughter of eleanor and arthur waters, eldest sister to sevyn, freya, and joel waters, was born when i first viewed the supernatural series in 2013/2014 when i was early into my adolescence and searching desperately for something to hold onto. i've been developing her story alongside the winchesters' and castiel's arcs, and i've come to love her just as they have. perhaps that invites a little insanity, but it's given me tremendous solace, and i wouldn't trade growing up with this series for the sun, moon, and stars.
> 
> in summary, lilia is revealed to be the daughter of death; the angel of rebirth. we learn of her history, how and why her family was brutally slaughtered, the whereabouts of her father, and how she's come to be acquainted with the winchesters since she herself was thirteen. for context, she's approximately eighteen in season one of the plotline.
> 
> i hope you love her as much as i do. she has a sharp tongue, a quick wit—but in the end, she loves the winchesters and bobby and trusts castiel. with smoking shotguns and busted cassettes, that's her world, and that's what matters at the end of a bloody day.
> 
> · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
> 
> dedicated to the #spnfamily – for everything you have given me when i was a lonely, unassuming thirteen-year old, to now, a twenty-year old embarking on the gritty realities of our world and trying to love the brilliance beneath the decay.
> 
> "this is my family. i found it all on my own. it's little and broken, but still good—yeah, still good."

**THE LEGEND OF THE ANGEL OF REBIRTH | part i**

******THE**atmosphere was lackluster and the full moonshine was a waterfall from the draught and through the windowpanes as she aimed her cue, fingertips clutching the splintering wood, one eye shut tight and another centralized on the task in front of her, cautious not to scrape across the emerald felt of the billiards table.the jukebox thumped with a johnny cash rhythm, and the left sole of her shoe acclimated to the guitar strums and crooning lyrics.two double-shots of tequila warm in her belly, and the stars beyond the tumbledown walls of the corner bar threatening to alight her with a newfound flame, she pulled her cue stick back, her eardrums penetrated by snickers of drifter motorcyclists environing her.

_they think i'll miss_, she thought, teeth puncturing her upper lip._and i never miss._

_one...two..._

"lilia!" a thunderous, gravelly voice reverberated from opposite the bar floor, waving her over expectantly.

she jolted up, eyes narrowing, and upon recognizing that the crackle of a lightning belonged to dean winchester, she rolled her eyes, exasperated, _"jesus christ_, dean!can't you see i'm in the middle of a game?"

her arms outstretched, gripping the cue upright with one hand, its base resting on the floorboards, she huffed until he rose from his chair across from his brother, sam—who was wrapping up a phone call and clacking away at keys fervently on his laptop—and hastily pulled her aside.

"you just cost me seventy bucks," lilia murmured, teeth gritted."i had an entire biker gang's ass to serve on a silver platter."

"save it," dean retorted, fingers curled into the cotton of her jacket as he waltzed back over to their destination by sam.a bowl of peanut shells were strewn across the finished oak of the tabletop, four open beer bottles frothing."we got a call."

"from who?" lilia folded her arms across her chest like an origami crane, her nose scrunching.

"another hunter," sam chimed in, flipping his cellphone shut and closing the luminescent screen of his laptop."thinks he caught wind of death."

"is that a literal or a figurative statement?" lilia questioned; admittedly, she was fatigued from the persistence of the four horsemen of the apocalypse.in recent months and from her previous bible lessons that were a lifetime ago, she had researched revelations and its implications throughout western society tirelessly...and none of it resulted in anything positive for her ragtag crew of supernatural hunters.

"the horseman, lil," dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger."we gotta scoot before we lose our tail on him."

"we'll coordinate with kip first, and move out," sam nodded, affirming their mission, and packed away his belongings in his knapsack.

"if we've really got him this time...i'm gonna need a shot for the road."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

the low rumble of the 1967 chevy impala's engine had coaxed her into a steady slumber; it was her favorite melody, indisputably better than any ac/dc cassette of dean's or the crests of ocean waves or the vintage televisionsets and antennae in motels.at a stoplight, she stirred, _to kill a mockingbird_ splayed out, spine up, on her lap.inside the paperback cover, there was a handwritten note scrawled into the parchment: _"for my lilia jane waters.may you always know courage in the face of injustice._

_— e"_

she had repeated that to herself during every transnational roadtrip to another hunt where somebody of innocence had succumbed to what lurks beyond the ideologies of humankind.somehow, she felt like she couldn't _get it right_, no matter the advice she had been gifted with.

in spite of this, she tried.and she thought—hoped that perhaps that mattered most.

the wheels corkscrewing beneath the trio at the pull of dean's calloused palms on the steering wheel, they parked in the lot of another dilapidated motel next to an unidentifiable lemon vehicle.with the creen of steel against the hinges as the doors came to an open stance, they clambered out of the impala, another man following suit.from lilia's perspective, he appeared to be in his mid-fifties, a scar trailing through his eyebrow and down his cheek, curving into his lip.he had sandy blonde hair that was shaved into a buzzcut, but was veiled by a corduroy ascot cap, and he sported stubble across his jaw and chin.he was astonishingly polished for a hunter; no flannel or distressed denim, but instead, a maroon collared, button-up long sleeve and khaki dress pants with loafers.the sole accessory was a rolex watch that lilia perceived to be the real deal.it was impressive, there was no denying that.oftentimes, in lilia's experience, hunters were no fashionistas, but instead, clothed in everyday battle gear.

"sam, dean," kip extended a hand, which sam shook politely, but dean dismissed.

"let's skip the pleasantries and get to the part about what death is doing in atlas, michigan," dean indelicately dictated, fists clenched at his sides, feet spread apart at shoulder-length like marmalade.

"i heard there was a bolo out from you lot on hunter chatter for his 1959 cadillac.i'm here in search a notably ghastly ghoul and heard it through the grapevine." kip conceded; however, his curiosity was concentrated on lilia, eyes menacing as he examined her from head to toe."i don't think i got your name."

"first and foremost, how do you know the boys?" lilia interrogated, exhibiting a taste of his own piqued interest.

"i'm a...distant acquaintance of bobby singer," kip replied, playing along."we have a business arrangement."

"what kind of arrangement?" sam inquired, an eyebrow raised, an aroma of exhaust and dew enveloping them.

kip smirked, bowing his head before diplomatically responding, "he provides me with these gigs, and i translate information that i receive from my contacts across the paranormal universe.i have confidential informants in all species."

"supernatural spies?" dean scoffed, shaking his head, his brunette tresses spiked with mousse like boulders at the bottom of a canyon.his experience with interrelating with angels of heaven, demons of hellfire, and their counterparts was never relationships that didn't result in slaughter.

"that's one way to put it," kip chuckled, bemused by their vexation and suspicion."now...your name?"

"lilia waters," she yielded—although, something fluttered in her stomach that signaled her "fight" survival mechanism...something distrustful.

"lilia, it's a pleasure," a jeopardizing smile plastered across kip's lip as he nodded towards her.

"can we focus here, james bond?" dean clasped his hands together inches from kip's features, obtaining his attention."death.atlas, michigan.who, what, when, where?"

"a reaper in my circle briefly mentioned death is a foodie," kip explained straightforwardly.

"he and dean should get along then," sam jabbed dean in jest with his arm, his brother promptly rolling his jade eyes.

"there's an ice cream joint in town i suspect you'll find him at," kip scavenged for his cell phone in his pockets, excavating it from a chasm of peppermint chewing gum and falsified identifications."real hole-in-the-wall place, adored by the locals.i'll text you the name and address."

sam's respective cell phone chimed with the promised message from kip, who clasped his hands together and plastered an unconvincing grin across his lips.

"that'll be all then?this ghoul won't stay got forever," he nodded, and dean and lilia exchanged glances while sam's eyes fluttered up from his incandescent phone screen, affirming that the lead was legitimate.

"thanks for the assist, kip," he expressed his gratitude, and with that, kip whirled around on his heels, descending into his driver's seat, his wheels grinding against the asphalt of the road splayed out before him.

there was a prolonged moment of quietude after kip's departure where the trio readily prepped themselves for their impending fates of acquainting with death himself.lilia's throat was taut with a foreign set of anticipatory nerves that she seldom experienced, and yet, she claimed her silence until dean spoke up, "i've been craving some black cherry ice cream lately."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

in spite of their diffidence concerning kip and his verification, he wasn't mistaken about the nature of _swirl and twirl ice cream shoppe_.it was quaint, resembling a cottage-style home, and a sign was posted triumphantly out front that read _"world famous superman scoop ice cream sundae"_ in a cursive font.dean's expression was aglow with an enthusiasm that was unique to classic american foods, and sam's was fixated on the mission that danced around them, all minacious footwork.lilia, on the other hand, had a stir inside of her—something she couldn't name.it felt as though her lifetime of anguish and heroism and ardent fury was about to be unveiled with purpose, and yet, she couldn't fathom it.she felt _connected_, for lack of something more comprehensive.and frankly, that frightened her.she was accustomed to unpredictability and peril and feeling faraway because of the notion that her death was a blink away in the event of a singular wrong move.

the main avenue was empty like the caskets they stumbled upon in spirit hunts, except for the gleaming white cadillac that was parked illegally on a corner lot.dean snorted at this, while lilia approached the doorway before he or sam could have a reaction.she wanted to know—knowing was her familiar; know what he was like, why she needed to see him alive and in the flesh.as the door swung open across the threshold, a rusted bell above the entryway twittering with a soft alarm of readying service, her azure irises fell upon a man with a sunken face and a decoration of bodies adorning him.he was clothed in a sleek gray suit, his thinning hair slicked back, and a wooden cane with ornate carvings propositioned against his chair.in front of him was a bowl of the esteemed superman scoop sundae, half-melted.he popped the maraschino cherry into his mouth as he made eye contact with lilia, tugging off the stem, and saying in a distinctly restrained voice, "it appears this game of hide and seek has seen its victory."

sam and dean were now amongst lilia and death, both guarding behind her, hands on their waistbands at the sign of probable threat.death, adeptly observing this, reassured them, "no need for that, boys.i'm here to have a chat, not for you to succumb to your ultimate destiny...yet."

"like these people?" lilia challenged, voice wavering for reasons she couldn't identify.it was intimidating being before someone—something notorious and aged.

"i will admit the nature of life and death has been especially out of order since lucifer has walked free.of course, that isn't here, nor there...considering the circumstances of how the seals were broken," death taunted, evidently irked by sam and dean's participation in lucifer's release from the cage.

"we're here to lock him back in the pit," dean defended, jaw clenched."we clean up our messes."

"oh, but isn't that humanity?a millennium of cleaning up messes," death slurped at another spoonful of his ice cream, satisfied with its flavoring."would you care for some?"

"uh," sam shifted uncomfortably, the three of them taken aback by death's demeanor."we're...we're good.thanks."

"suit yourself," death nodded, chipping away at his dessert."now, you're here for my ring."

"i doubt you're going to make this easy on us," dean riposted.

"on the contrary, mr. winchester," death set his spoon down with a reverberating clank, abruptly aggravated by dean's presumption."this is one little planet in one tiny solar system in a galaxy that's barely out of its diapers.i'm old, dean.very old.so i invite you to contemplate how insignificant i find you.and yet, i would prefer to see the fallen angel...corrected.he's petulant, as most subspecies are, which is a trait i don't find appealing."

"you'll...you'll give us the ring then?" dean inquired suspiciously, his expression reading bewildered.

"i will," death granted."however, i must speak with lilia waters.alone.that is my sole condition."

sam and dean's lines of vision averted to lilia, whose eyelids widened at death's bequest.after regaining her composure, she glanced at the brothers and nodded, declaring her safeguard.it was worth it if it meant they acquired the ring, she rationalized.

the winchesters lingered before leaving the parlor to await with trepidation outside of the impala, teeth grinding and muscles rigid.

inside, however, death gestured for lilia to have a seat in the pastel yellow, padded chair.he arose from his place and shuffled behind the counter, cane beneath his outstretched palm, and commenced with scooping another ice cream bowl for lilia.

"it's best you eat," he advised after lilia's perplexed stare.

"can we cut to the chase?" lilia's hands were squeezed into fists in her lap beneath the tabletop.

death persisted as though he didn't hear her, topping the ice cream with garnishes.soon, he resumed his place back the table, sliding the bowl across to lilia.to humor him, she consumed a bite, all while he watched her, gladdened that she had yielded to him.

"onto bigger things, as promised," death intertwined his hands before him, appearing professional and diplomatic."i have information regarding your standing here on earth.something you will want to hear."

she was right, she thought.their conference with death wasn't exclusively about the ring.there was more to it; more to her feeling; more to why.she raised her chin at this, eyes narrowing onto death, bubbling over with uncertainty and intolerable forebodingness.

"in your time spent squabbling with angels and heaven, have you ever heard of the fable of the angel of rebirth?" death questioned, his expression ineligible, his posture poised.

"i haven't," lilia sighed exasperatedly, sprouting a new leaf of impatience."i'm not into storytelling and fairytales.not anymore."

"and yet, you carry to kill a mockingbird everywhere you travel.how ironic," death scrutinized.

"it was a gift," she explained in a murmur, never someone to mumble; she was always a woman of voice and ferocity."from my mother."

"in the spirit of your mother, shall we listen to this mythology then?" death enquired in a way that left lilia with no choice, but recline and listen.

"long, long ago, shortly thereafter the horsemen's creation, there was the angel of rebirth.every eon, the angel would reincarnate into someone else—that is, unless the angel died and a replacement was required.a witch cast a particularly nasty curse on this angel after she refused to resurrect a loved one, and as intended, this angel would surrender to a horrific illness that was idiosyncratic to this creature.there was no cure in the cosmos.and so, every several years, new angels would be born until it was their time.their grace would be united with me, death."

"what do you do with the grace?" lilia asked, the cynical parts of her dubious, but her curiosity getting the better of her.

"i merge it with the earth.it's the spirit of everything born as we know it," death elucidated, gesturing to the mountains of bodies environing them.

"is that supposed to impress me?" lilia rejoined, her insides tangled like a calico kitten in yarn at the sight of the corpses.

"perhaps it should.you are the angel of rebirth, my daughter, after all."

lilia's countenance went cold, her features hardening like paste.she was tempted to shatter the ceramic ice cream bowl into a mosaic of shards on the wooden flooring."that's...not possible.i have a father.had."

"ah, yes.arthur waters.a coward to the very end," death acknowledged, and lilia scoffed at his astute declaration of character.arthur was never a tenderhearted father to lilia; her juvenescence was plagued with hands around throats instead of aurelia lockets, and bruises on skin instead of glitter. "our lives are not so limited that we are restricted by these constructs of 'mother' and 'father'."

"did you...did you see my mother?at the end?" lilia whispered like a secret.secrets were fickle, she thought.her mother's fondness toward her wasn't one; eleanor was different than arthur in all things, but perhaps most especially their parenting.she was all gentleness and storytime and midnight milkshakes when lilia couldn't drift to sleep.

"i did.i personally escorted her instead of one of my reapers.orders from upstairs," death nodded, his eyes twinkling at the utterance of eleanor."she was frightened to leave you."

"and the twins?joel?" lilia questioned, misting in her longing to greet her siblings again.being the eldest daughter, she was a third parent, watching and teaching and caretaking.they were rambunctious, and lilia missed that; the innocence of childhood.

"they were young...too young to fully comprehend the vitality of their own deaths," death delineated somberly."they came willingly, however.as they were meant to."

"what does this all add up to?i'm going to die from this witch's hex?" lilia asked crossly, her ill temper swelling and bile pooling in her stomach.

"i wanted you to be aware before symptoms set in.to give you time to say your goodbyes to the winchesters and those you hold dear."

"i didn't realize you cared about human connections," lilia laughed to scorn.

"i don't.but you are very important, lilia waters.far more important than you may understand."

without another signal to sustain their dialogue, death arose from his chair, steadying his cane beneath his palm, and plucked a jar of swirl and twirl's homecrafted caramel drizzle from a merchandise shelf before exiting out of the back in one fell swoop.

there was nothing inside of lilia that motivated her to greet sam and dean outside, or to phone bobby, or to pray to castiel, or to blubber with teardrops down her roseate cheeks.nothing that warranted emotion or woefulness.she was angry.that was her predominant reaction.angry that this was her reality; angry that she wasn't aware of it sooner; angry that she would be transcending into the afterlife without a glimmer of what was in store for her.throughout each of her trials and tribulations with sam and dean winchester, and since knowing castiel, she had come to appreciate the notion that destiny or fate—whichever you know it by—they are not cemented into who you are.dean once pronounced, _"screw destiny.right in the face."_that was her feeling.no matter who or what the universe wanted her to be, she would be her own.that much she knew.

she was going to fight it, with bloody knuckles and gunpowder and fat lips and silver daggers and scarring down and across her soul.she wouldn't be giving up—john winchester, man of life's uttermost brutal blows to the heart and body, didn't raise her to give up.she owed him at least that much.


	2. the legend of the angel of rebirth | part ii

**THE LEGEND OF THE ANGEL OF REBIRTH | part ii**

******THEY** were back at the motel, the three of them. the lamps suspended on the wall that were enveloped in a film of dust emanated a dim light across the room, the polyester curtains drawn, the bedsheets wrinkled. lilia was slurping on a strawberry milkshake, like eleanor would craft for her, poking at the whipped cream, while dean and sam were paused mid-meal. dean, for once, appeared as if he was nauseated at the sight of an all-american hamburger and waffle fries. she had blueprinted the impending end of her being to them, just as death had, and expectedly, they weren't accommodating it well.

"i'm confused," sam started, always necessitating an understanding in everything he did and was done amongst him. "how have we never heard of the angel of rebirth before?"

"i'll tell you why," dean stated, knocking his knuckles on the tabletop, his nose scrunching with disdain. "it's because it's a crock of bull, if you ask me."

"dean—" lilia pleaded, interrupted by his tirade.

"how can we even trust what death says? none of the horsemen have proven themselves to be honest."

"i don't think he has a motivation to lie to me, dean," lilia explained, her tone level in spite of the annoyance frothing like the foam of a cappuccino inside of her. she wanted them to listen. to tell her they could combat this in a resounding crusade despite the weight on her shoulders that demanded otherwise. "i don't wholeheartedly trust him, but i can't deny what he's telling me. if i really am who he says i am, and if i really only have a handful of months, weeks even, left before—"

"don't say that," dean intervened on her mindset, not allowing her to stay stuck in wallowing and self-pity like he had an abundance of times before—through his crossroads deal, through hell itself.

"i think we should talk with cas," sam chimed in, expression ineligible. "he'll know what to do, and he can tell us if death is lying."

the three exchanged glances, sam and dean looking pointedly at lilia, before she huffed out a breath, entwined her hands like she would before bedtime and supper as a child, and commenced her prayer, "castiel—if you can hear me, please, come when you can. it's important."

she blinked open one eye, and scanned motel room 4B for any indicator of the angel's presence. after a number of seconds, her other cerulean eye flittered open, and she turned to face sam and dean.

"maybe he's preoccupied with, _i don't know_, the apocalypse—"

"lilia," castiel's gruff voice greeted from across the room, subsequent to the flap of wings and soles of loafer shoes colliding with the carpeting.

"thanks for coming, cas," sam perked up, nodding toward the celestial entity.

"i should've come sooner; there's been...concerning—for lack of a more sufficient adjective—discussion on angel radio," castiel revealed, frowning.

"isn't most of the chatter on your frequency a little concerning nowadays?" lilia scoffed, an eyebrow raised, implicating the apocalypse's and lucifer's fearsome hold over heaven.

"i suppose you're right," castiel perched on the sofa across from their seats, cracking a halfhearted smile. dean, however, appeared less than amused or charmed. "this was about you, however."

"what were they saying?" dean interrogated, his countenance severe and unrelenting.

"the first words i heard at dawn were these: _'lilia waters has been chosen.'_"

they stared blankly in a stunned silence, lilia shifting trepidatiously, troubled by the realism of it.

"so it's true," she nodded, guffawing bitterly. "what did i tell you? death wasn't blowing smoke. this is real."

"did they say anything else?" sam questioned, his eyes transfixed on the salad bowl in front of him.

"nothing of import," castiel's sapphire irises were teeming with consternation, his demeanor sullen.

"why don't you let us decide what's important and what's not?" dean urged, now standing upright and pacing.

"if you insist," castiel inhaled waveringly before confessing like a parish member to a priest. "they're preparing a place for her. in heaven."

a hush fell over them like tulle on skin; only this wasn't enchanting, but instead, torn and ragged and dizzying. lilia felt like her equilibrium was unbalanced, an inability to sit in her chair without toppling over like a rousing game of jenga.

"i need some air," she mumbled before snatching her jacket from the coathanger and stumbling through the threshold. the wintertime frost in michigan cannoned into her face and fingertips and through the toes of her boots. everything inside her was numb to the touch down to her crux. the wind whistled through her corkscrewed brunette strands, and snow flurries fumbled from the charcoal sky. she wandered down the motel courtyard before resorting to an ice-laden bench, not paying mind to the glacial temperature of the metal against her denim. mere minutes lapsed before sam shuffled through the door, and spotted lilia from across the way. his eyes were transfixed on the the wintry weather environing them before he joined lilia on the bench, sitting in silence for minutes before he acknowledged her: "we can fight this. you know that, right? this doesn't have to be the end for you."

"the end is already coming," lilia scoffed, scornful. "unless we can stop lucifer—and that's a big if—"

"we have the rings," sam reminded pointedly. "our plan is solid. this doesn't change anything."

"doesn't it, though?" lilia met his eyes, catapulting herself into its oregon forest greens. "i'm not saying i don't want to save the world anymore; i do. all i'm saying is that if the angels are convinced, then it's hard not to be convinced myself."

"lilia," sam started, expelling a sigh from his lungs. "we've died and almost died more times than i can count on two hands. somehow, somebody upstairs thinks we're important; we always come back. always. we're not going to let you fade away. not now, not ever. i—we love you too much for that."

lilia's levee splintered, and soon, she was weeping; she never exhibited her softness, not allowed what goes bump in the twilight to let her wall like that of berlin down. with sam, it was different. it always was. he cradled her, an arm ribboned around her shoulder, letting her teardrops stain his bomber jacket. she knew he was right—this fray was one they could fight like the myriad of others they had. if this was her grand finale, so be it—but she would go down swinging, if nothing else.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

lilia was seeing them. people of the spirit realm. they came in glimmers; silhouettes in her peripheral vision, and when she whirled around to fully witness them, they were gone.

naturally, she didn't divulge this to sam or dean, castiel or bobby. with their gearing up to padlock lucifer in his devilish canyon forevermore, she didn't possess anything inside of her that yearned to distress them anymore than they already were.

they were amidst their strategizing in bobby's living room when she saw him—a man adorned in 1920's fashion, complete with a herringbone fitted suit, onyx oxford shoes, and a hamburg hat. amongst the mountains of lore and mildew and glasses of whiskey, there he was, plain as day behind bobby as she sat across from him at his desk. she couldn't help staring, and eventually, bobby recognized her focus.

"what, do i have something in my teeth?" he jested, his tattered cap shielding his eyes and forehead. a warmth exuded from the fireplace, sam shifting the blazing logs to provoke more flame. the sun was setting outside, and the snow smeared across the ground like honey beneath the aurelia light.

"no, i—i was just thinking," she deceived, and went back to her scanning revelations for the hundredth occasion. with her eidetic memory, she could recite it verbatim, but she read it again nevertheless.

she presumed the man would've vanished by now, but he remained there, upright, as if he was attempting to communicate with her. to test her theory if whether he would follow her, she excused herself and expeditiously traversed into the bathroom, where she locked the door behind her. he floated through the doorway, and soon, he was inside the mirror.

"who are you?" she demanded, jaw clenched and brow furrowed.

"you're the angel, daughter of death, are you not?" he asked as though lilia should understand why she could see him; why he wasn't transparent to her. he had a swagger to his voice, the kind that only originated from the glory days.

"that doesn't explain why you're here," lilia riposted, her aggravation swelling by the second.

"doesn't it, though?" his eyes twinkled with a knowing that lilia couldn't comprehend.

"you're not a run-of-the-mill spirit i run into with the boys," lilia pointed out, and he nodded as though to signify she was catching on. "you've crossed over."

"bingo," he chuckled, clapping his hands together enthusiastically. "you're a smart cookie."

"why can i see you?" she persisted, bewildered.

"the name's azaiah," he revealed, winking. "your job is to help me become new again."

lilia blinked rapidly, in no more understanding than she was before.

"lemme put it this way: you're the angel of rebirth. you've got the mojo to bring me back, toots. and that's exactly what you're gonna do."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

lilia was seat-buckled into the driver's side of the impala, fumbling the keys into the ignition, her breath evaporating into the frigid climate. azaiah was in the passenger seat, ebony leather across the interior of the vehicle for miles. she had scrambled out of bobby's residence, fabricating that she was undertaking a supply run for booze and ingredients for dinner, and somehow, by the grace of god—dean had permitted her to drive "baby" and not one of bobby's junkers.

"you're shaking," azaiah espied, glowering.

lilia arched an eyebrow, intrigued and puzzled that he appeared to burden himself with her well-being. "yeah, well, it's _cold_," she retorted, rolling her eyes before the engine of the impala roared to life.

"that may be so—and tell me if i'm wrong, sugar—but i detect nervousness, anxiety," azaiah's countenance appeared all-knowing yet again, like there was something lilia was missing out on.

"anxiety is my constant state," lilia huffed facetiously, putting the sleek car into gear and reversing out of bobby's lot. "and don't call me 'sugar' if you want me to pull this favor out of my ass for you."

"see, that's where you're wrong, darling," azaiah wagged his index finger in front of him."this isn't a mere favor.this is...destiny."

"i'm gettin' real tired of folks trying to tell me what my destiny is," lilia white-knuckled the steering wheel, barreling down the street, her speedometer hotfooting upwards."i make my own.i always have.i'm not about to stop now."

"it's more than that, lilia, and you see it, too," azaiah crossed a leg over the other, his contour flickering with the torrent of snowflakes outside."somewhere, it was written that this is who you are.you can't fight that."

"the fact that i'm with you in this car means i'm not.not that part of it anyway," lilia careened the impala down a backroads avenue, the wheels pirouetting against the icy blacktop."enough about me.you said i have to—to take you to this graveyard, dig up your bones, and then what?perform a spell?"

"a spell of sorts," azaiah nodded cryptically.

"is that all i get?" lilia inquired, insolent.

"for now," azaiah nodded affirmingly, and thus, the conversation deceased until they pulled into the garden of remembrance.

lilia slid out of the driver's seat with ease before erecting herself and absorbing the scenery swaddling them like a newborn in a plush blanket, the snow banks towering around them. she pined for the heat seeping through the vents of the impala now that she was amongst the wintertide again. she retrieved a military-grade duffel bag with a shovel inside from the backseat floorboards.azaiah floated—literally—into the outdoors beside her, the sun peeking over the horizon by the skin of its teeth.

"home," he whispered, his eyes wistful and faraway.

"what do you mean?" lilia questioned, her intentions meaningful.

"my grandfather...he owned this cemetery. when he passed, my father overtook the business, and he renamed it to sinclair memorial cemetery. this...death...it was my familiar. still is, i would presume," azaiah imparted.

"that's morbid. for a child, at least. where all you know is death," lilia averted her gaze to her waterlogged chucks she had had since she was thirteen—the first and only pair of shoes john winchester ever purchased for her—the slush coating it.

"takes one to know one," azaiah chuckled, and lilia flashed a languorous smile at him.suddenly, his expression was morose."you experienced it.i've done my research, and i've heard the rumors."

"rumors can be just that—rumors," lilia emphasizes, witnessing a crow peck at a rabbit's carcass. "in this case, however, they're true. you already knew that, though, didn't you?"

"there are no secrets in the afterlife, lilia.only truth and revealing," azaiah sauntered forward toward a tombstone that read, "azaiah sinclair, 1875—1925; a beloved member of the community and the sinclair family."

"this is you, huh?" lilia heaved out a sigh, and unzipped the duffel bag to obtain the rusted shovel."let's get to work."

after an hour of shoveling and sweat beads perspiring from her forehead despite the subzero temperatures, the tip of her shovel clanged with the wooden casket at last.she wiped at her face with her jacket sleeve, and hefted open the casket to unveil a sack of bones and skull amidst dirt and underground insects.

"are you going to tell me what i have to do now, or do i have to force it out of you?" lilia quipped, projecting the shovel up onto the snowy terrain above her.

"i will forewarn that this is...intense, darling. in a flash, you will see my life, and then my death," azaiah admonished, his auburn eyes darting from the marrow of his bones to lilia and back again.

"i can handle intense," lilia positioned a hand on her hip, her hubris trickling out from her.

"if you're certain," azaiah breathed in, as if to prepare himself."place your hands on the skull.close your eyes.and recite this chant: 'ego novi facti, et viet vobis."

lilia contracted her hands into fists, inhaled, and on her exhale, relaxed her palms and fingertips, kneeling down to place them on azaiah's skull of yesteryear.after years of studying latin incantations, her delivery was unblemished.for a moment, nothing transpired, but abruptly, her hands were aglow with an unforeseen aura, and soon, her mind was transported to the birth of azaiah down and his parents, lenora and claude sinclair, cradling him in their arms, to his mother's demise in the aftermath of his bringing into this world, to his death in 1925 amidst a warehouse factory blaze.she was a spectator to his anguish of never discovering love for himself; to his father's abuse as a result of his mother's untimely expiration; to his academic achievements in post-mortem science.she felt as though she was him, and she understood everything about him down to his quirks and trivial anecdotes and humanistic flaws.

when she centered herself again, she was disoriented, undecided and mistrustful in her surroundings. azaiah was nowhere to be found; she called out to him, scanned around, and as she turned on her heels, she was met with death once again.

"i see you've taken to your duties. a gift and a curse, it is," death arms here crossed over one another at the wrists, and the bottom of his cane was planted firmly on in the snow. "how do you feel?"

"what happened to azaiah?" lilia urged, neglecting his question.

"azaiah is being reborn," death explained, possessing minimal emotion or concern. "he'll live a new life. one his soul was meant to."

"reincarnation...that's what this is," lilia spoke with finality, piecing the enigma together."is he going to be okay?azaiah?"

"that part isn't up to me or you," death instructed straightforwardly."i can assure you that, right now, his soul is happy."

"what comes next?" lilia asked, shivering beneath the moonlight and milky way.

"you continue to complete these rebirths to maintain the natural order," death tutored, his voice even."for now, get back to the winchesters and bobby singer.they need you."

death had evanesced in a blink, and lilia was alone.only, when she surveyed the rolling hills in the distance, there they were—the souls.dozens of them, all there to be reborn.


End file.
